


The Hand That Feeds

by hannicat



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Food Kink, Food Porn, M/M, Other, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 02:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19241809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannicat/pseuds/hannicat
Summary: Aziraphale is surprised by Crowley's sudden arrival at the bookshop, that is, until he provides lunch.





	The Hand That Feeds

_ You’re keeping in step _

_ In the line _

_ Got your chin held high and you feel just fine _

 

Azirazphale was feeling quite smug, almost but not quite smug enough to be sinful. He had returned to his bookshop in this state after setting some youths on the path of righteousness. Well, that may have been an exaggeration but he had prevented the youngsters from the temptation of pickpocketing by distracting them by appearing in his true angelic form. As a beam of light increasing in intensity he stood, bare feet not quite connecting with the scummy London pavement. Dressed only in a loose robe of impossible whiteness with his wings at full span, the youths were afraid at first but fear soon left them. The thought of dipping into strangers pockets had entirely abandoned them, they could do nothing but run home unable to explain the other worldly experience to their families.

 

“Yes”, Aziraphale mused aloud, “I have done Good work today”. 

 

That was, until Crowley sauntered into the bookshop, leaving the door to slam shut behind him before quickly turning the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ seemingly without laying a finger on it. He swaggered towards the angel, his movements centred around his hips.

 

_ Because you do _

_ What you’re told _

_ But inside your heart it is black and it’s hollow and it’s cold _

 

“Oh.. um.. What brings you here in such a hurry”, was all Aziraphale could vocalise, most taken aback with the demon’s sudden appearance.

 

“Don’t sound so surprised”, Crowley hissed, “and you can’t pretend you’re disappointed to see me”. A large grin taking shape on his face as he removed his trademark sunglasses.

 

Aziraphale couldn’t help but be entranced by the demon’s hypnotic eyes. He had spent countless hours trying to decipher the exact colour… chartreuse?... nyanza?... mindaro? No, the closest he could match was pear. Which of course Crowley found particularly amusing considering the angel’s fascination with human sustenance which neither being truly required.

 

Crowley moved closer to the angel, backing him up towards a ladder leaned against his stacks of books. Smirking as he noticed several copies in various translations of The Iliad behind Aziraphale’s golden locks.

 

“Can I…  _ tempt _ … you angel”, the demon’’s voice rasped barely above a whisper. 

 

The angel gasped audibly. He didn’t strictly  _ need _ the air but his subconscious deemed it necessary as he felt Crowley’s forked tongue flicker just below his ear. 

 

He found himself looking at his ornate 19th century armchairs, at the dust settling from Crowley’s rushed entry, at a dead fly on the window ledge. Anything to not look at the demon himself. He knew if he glimpsed at the messy auburn hair or pale but not quite sallow skin or, heaven forbid, those wickedly beautiful slitted eyes he would give in.

 

“To… what exactly, my dear”, Aziraphale eventually replied, poorly attempting to hide his discomfort.

 

Backing off a little, the demon’s grin continued to disturb the angel. 

 

“Why, I believe you would call it ‘a spot of lunch’”, Crowley’s poor imitation of Aziraphale was complete with a mocking mime of tea drinking with his pinky finger extended. If this was intended to offend the angel, it did not have the desired effect as his eyes grew wide at the mention of food.

 

“Well, that sounds lovely, why didn’t you just say”, the angel gushed. On the antique table, atop scattered pages, afternoon tea for two came into existence. 

 

The pair took their usual seats as Aziraphale tucked in. He was touched that Crowley had been able to remember all of his favourites. Scones with jam and cream, mille feuille, cream filled eclairs and crepes almost, but not quite, as delicious as those in Paris. And, of course, a seemingly endless pot of Earl Grey.

 

The demon observed with hungry eyes whilst not consuming a bite, merely taking frequent sips from the never ending crystal glass of Talisker that had appeared from somewhere, or nowhere.

 

As he pushed away his plate, empty but for a few crumbs, Aziraphale exhaled. “I am positively stuffed”.

 

“Oh, it isn’t over just yet, angel”, Crowley purred causing the angel to sit up straight.

 

Just as the plates had mysteriously appeared, they disappeared. Replaced by a nondescript white bowl of fresh strawberries and a dish suspended above a candle containing melted chocolate.

 

There were a lot of nuances of human life that Aziraphale didn’t understand, but the connotations here were clear. He suddenly felt rather warm as his cheeks blushed, eliciting an even larger grin from the demon. 

 

“Let me feed you, I know you can’t resist temptation”, Crowley whispered, enunciating each syllable painfully slowly.

 

Aziraphale shuffled back in his chair, his wide eyes not breaking contact with Crowley’s. He was a picture of innocence, not a crumb on his perfect linen suit as his hand reached to loosen his bow tie. Finding himself unable to verbalise, a small nod was all he could manage as Crowley dipped a strawberry into the chocolate and brought this to the angel’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> I've not written for a while and this is my first Good Omens fic, please be kind and give me your thoughts :)
> 
> Thank you to The Hand That Feeds by Nine Inch Nails for inspiration.


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